


Bad Santa

by yodasyoyo



Series: Sterek Christmas Fics [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Derek finds it adorable and loves him anyway, Gift Giving, M/M, Secret Santa, Snark, shameless fluff, sort of oblivious stiles, stiles is the worst at gift giving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: : Stiles has to be Derek's Secret Santa in the pack gift exchange. And discovers he may have feelings for the pack's resident sourwolf.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was my contribution to Sterek Secret Santa 2016. A gift for Watsonofabitch. Originally posted on tumblr, but I am posting it here too as well.
> 
> Thanks to adeepeningdig for the beta. You are my best fandom buddy and I'd be lost without you.

“Wait, what?” Stiles sputters, spitting Cheetos everywhere. He twists round to stare at Scott, the episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine they’re watching forgotten.

“Secret Santa.”

Stiles gapes. “Seriously?”

Scott shrugs, “I thought it would be nice.”

“Nice.”

“Y’know, promote pack bonding or whatever.”

“And you couldn’t have mentioned this earlier?”

“I sent a text,” Scott’s face falls. “Oh god, wait, I sent it a couple of weeks back, around the time you broke your phone.”

“Oh my god, Scott! When I didn’t get back to you, you could have e-mailed me or skyped or written me a letter or something.”

“There were giants, man. Actual giants. I was distracted.” Stiles rolls his eyes, and Scott sighs.  
“I honestly thought you knew. I didn’t make the connection between the lack of reply and the broken phone until just now.”

“Lost. I lost my phone. It didn’t break.” It’s all semantics really, he still had to replace it, but he’s feeling petty.

“Lost, then. I’m sorry, but look, it isn’t a big deal. You still have a few days to get Derek a present. That’s plenty of time.”

“Derek?” Stiles squeaks in horror. “Can’t I get you something instead?” Because he can’t get Derek Hale a gift. He just can’t.

Scott shakes his head. “Everyone else has already bought stuff. I can’t rearrange it now. Come on, it isn’t that bad. I’m sure you can find something he likes.” Stiles rolls his eyes, and Scott winces, “Or maybe something practical, y’know, something he needs.”

Stiles folds his arms and sighs noisily. “Personality. Sense of humor. Flea collar.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Things Derek needs.”

“Dude.” Scott stares at him, with full on reproachful puppy dog eyes.

“What? He can turn into an actual wolf!” Stiles wilts under the weight of Scott’s disapproval. “I’m joking, obviously I’m joking.”

“Just, try and be kind, okay? I know you two can’t always seem to manage that, but it’s Christmas.”

“You say that like it’s supposed to mean something.”

“It is. It does.” He puts his hand on Stiles’ arm. “You know it does.”

Stiles sighs, “Scott, most of the time Derek and I barely get along.”

Scott faces scrunches up. “Really? I mean I know you argue, but I always thought that was just how you guys worked. Maybe you just need to spend more-”

“No.” Stiles snaps, and Scott’s face falls. Any moment now he’s going to suggest Stiles and Derek do trust falls or get relationship counselling or some shit like that. And, honestly? Stiles knows he has a weird hate crush on Derek, okay? Getting all touchy-feely with each other isn’t going to change anything. “Look, it’s fine. I’ll do it,” Stiles says, before Scott can start sounding too much like a motivational poster. “What’s the budget?”

“Maximum five dollars, although you can choose to make something instead if you want. There’s a pack meeting at mine on Saturday. That’s when we exchange gifts.”

“Five dollars!” Stiles sputters, outraged. “Make something?! In less than a week! For Derek! Seriously?”

“Look, stay positive. Apply yourself. You’ll be fine.”

Stiles glares at him.

“I’m serious,” Scott says, “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Easy for you to be all Hakuna Mafuckit, you’re not trying to get a gift for Derek. He’s impossible to buy for.”

“No he isn’t. Come on, dude. Do you want me to come shopping with you?”

The thing is, as much as he loves Scott, Stiles had about as much as he can handle of his relentless positivity. “It’s fine,” he grits out, “I’ll do it.”

“You see?” Scott says, beaming at him, “That’s how it begins, with a positive mental attitude.”

Stiles has only been back from college for three hours, and he’s going to kill his best friend. That’s all there is to it.

-

The conundrum of what to get Derek is still bugging Stiles as he sits at home later that night, surfing the internet. He finds himself looking at novelty mugs and mouse mats with a spiralling sense of despair. Does Derek need a mousemat? Does anyone? He isn’t even sure Derek still has a laptop. He hasn’t seen the dude in nearly six months and even then-

God, truthfully, he wishes he’d been given anyone in the pack but Derek.

If it were anyone else he’d be fine, but Derek- Derek is different. He’s always been different. And Stiles has no idea where to start.

He finds a mug that says “Werewolf? There wolf.” It has a picture of a wolf cub on it. It’s pretty cute and it’s only $3.99. He orders it, even though it probably won’t arrive till after Christmas, but he’s stressed and he needs to feel proactive.

He regrets the decision as soon as he places the order. Novelty werewolf stuff is fucking lame. He can do better. He just needs to get straight in his head what he knows about Derek. After all, since he started college a couple of years back he barely sees him. Okay, they text shit to each other fairly regularly but it’s not the same.

On a whim, he opens up a fresh google doc and starts making a list:

Derek Hale, Known Facts:

  * Werewolf
  * Brother
  * Hermit
  * Poor judge of character/bad taste in women
  * Strong Eyebrow Game
  * V. manly beard
  * Exercises a lot. Probably. (Where? When? What does he do? Go to a gym? Hurl rocks into canyons whilst brooding?)
  * Likes to eat: ???? Raw meat? Protein Bars? Maybe his misery sustains him.
  * Jeans v.v. tight. (Bad for sperm count/ass looks good though.)



He stares at the list for a long moment then adds:

  * Sarcastic
  * Kind of an asshole
  * Bravest person I know
  * Would do anything for pack



It’s still a shitty list. No help at all. Not really.

It’s a hopeless situation. He’s screwed. Fucking screwed.

He spends another half hour idly surfing the internet. He accidentally orders a mousemat with a picture of wolves on it, and a keychain that says, ‘You must never underestimate the power of the eyebrow.’ Both cost five dollars each.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore.

He’s a goddamn mess.

He’s just gonna have to go hang out with Derek tomorrow and see if he can pick up any clues, that’s all.

-

He arrives at Derek’s loft just before lunch the following day. Derek opens the door before he can knock, which is kind of annoying. Damn that freaky werewolf hearing.

Derek’s wearing sweatpants and a tank-top. He’s a mass of sweat-sheened, rippling muscle. As Stiles watches, he lifts the hem of his tank top and wipes his face on it, giving an excellent view of his abs and happy trail.

Stiles has to look away.

He knows Derek’s hot, okay? He’s perfectly aware of it. He just doesn’t need to be reminded of it, that’s all. His life is hard enough already.

“Stiles.”

“Heeeey, Derek. Can I come in?”

Derek raises an eyebrow but steps to one side and allows Stiles through without another word.

The loft looks pretty much like he remembers it. Spartan, functional, but at least the hole in the wall has been fixed.

It’s not exactly giving him many gift ideas though, which is kinda the whole point of this visit. He needs some clue as to what Derek likes, his hobbies and interests or whatever. After all. Derek must have them, right? If Stiles can work out what they are, maybe he could get him something that related to it. Something useful, rather than some meaningless novelty shit.

“So,” he says, “Working out, huh?” Which is a lame opening, but truthfully, he feels kind of awkward. It’s been ages since they’ve seen each other, and he can feel Derek staring at him in that weirdly intense way he sometimes has that’s always made Stiles feel exposed. “So, how do you do that then?” Stiles continues. “Do you have weights or something?”

“I have a zumba home workout dvd. It’s pretty good.”

Stiles head snaps up to look at him; there’s a smile tugging at the corner of Derek’s mouth.

“Oh, ha fucking ha,” Stiles says, but he’s grinning, and just like that Derek’s smiling back at him, bright and warm and breathtaking.

Fuck. He’s missed this.

“So, can I get you a coffee?” Derek asks, reaching out and giving his arm a squeeze. Stiles swallows. Tries not to focus on the warmth of that touch.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

Derek disappears to make the drinks and while he’s occupied Stiles takes a look about the apartment.

There have been a few changes since he was here last. The bed isn’t downstairs any more. And there’s a small bookcase Stiles doesn’t remember with a selection of books (lots of Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke). There’s a healthy looking houseplant sitting to one side as well, which he definitely doesn’t remember from six months ago. Still no television though. No evidence of a laptop either, although maybe it’s upstairs with the bed.

He runs his fingers along the leather of the couch and remembers how many nights he spent in this room in high school, researching whatever monster they were facing down that week. They’ve stood in this room and bickered and fought, but they’ve always had each other’s backs. They’ve saved each other’s lives more times then he can count. In fact, if he’s honest with himself, out of everyone in the pack it’s Derek he tru-

“How’s college?” Derek asks, as he comes back carrying two mugs of coffee. He offers one to Stiles who takes it gratefully.

“It’s okay. I have a paper on moral relativism that’s kicking my ass, and my roommate is kind of annoying. It’s all, reassuringly mundane after living in Beacon Hills, but enough about me, let’s talk about you.”

Derek takes a sip of his coffee and says nothing, that strange, intense look is back, which is unhelpful, however much it makes Stiles’ stomach flip.

“What’s up with you, Derek?” Stiles says, nudging him with his elbow. “Anything? Tell your old pal Stiles.”

Derek shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“Any new hobbies? Got a job? Read any good books? Come on. Let’s talk about you.”

Derek purses his lips. “You’re being weird.”

“What? Because I’m interested in your life? That’s not weird. We’re friends!” Sort of. For a given value of friendship. (It’s not like he jerks off thinking about the other members of the pack, but, whatever).

Derek sighs. “Fine. I’m good. I mean it’s busy at the hospital but I enjoy it.”

Stiles gapes. “You work at the hospital?”

“Volunteer,” Derek says. “I’ve been there for about six months. I thought you knew.”

“No,” Stiles says, stung. “Oh my god, nobody tells me anything. What do you do?”

“I work on the children’s ward. They need people to go in and help support the kids and their families.” Derek smiles soft and fond, and Stiles knows he’s staring, knows his jaw is hanging open, but there’s nothing he can do. He’s not in control of his body any more. “I play with them, read with them. Sometimes we do art and stuff. There’s this one kid, Conor, he reminds me a little of Cora at- Stiles are you okay?”

“Uh- yeah!” he squeaks.

“You don’t look-”

“I’m fine! I just. I just remembered I, uh, I have to go.”

“But you just got here. You haven’t finished your coffee.”

“Right. I’ll, um-” he drains the mug. It burns. He can’t feel his tongue. Shit. “See you around,” he rasps, “Thanks for the coffee.” He shoves the mug in Derek’s general direction and fucking hightails it out of there, leaving Derek standing in the middle of his apartment.

He sprints to his car, speeds home, runs upstairs and feverishly jerks off, twice, for reasons he can’t begin to explain to himself.

How has this happened? The only way he’s been able to keep his stupid crush on Derek in check all these years is by telling himself that Derek’s a surly asshole. How is he supposed to keep telling himself that if Derek is volunteering at hospitals with sick kids? How is that reasonable? How is that allowed? It’s… it’s… fucking unfair, is what it is.

And this, this, is exactly the reason he didn’t want to have to be Derek’s secret santa in the first place.

What is he supposed to do now that he has this information, huh?

Goddammit.

-

Later that afternoon he drives to the mall and wanders aimlessly round trying to find something. Anything.

He tries to think about the kind of things that Derek had in his apartment. Things he may like.

Two hours later he comes home a random selection of sci-fi books, an aloe vera plant and a Zumba home workout dvd. He puts them all in a box under his bed. Except the plant. That goes on his window.

At this rate he’ll have spent more trying to find a secret Santa gift for Derek than he has on his dad’s entire present.

What the hell is wrong with him?

-

That evening, Scott invites him round to play Mario Kart and of course Derek shows up with Isaac, because that’s just how Stiles’ life is going to work from now on.

To make it worse, Derek sits next to him on the couch, pressed right up to him, in a way that Stiles can, apparently, no longer handle. At one point after a particularly good game, he gives Stiles’ knee a congratulatory squeeze, and Stiles spends the next minute staring into the middle distance, biting his lip and trying to bring himself down from half chub by sheer force of will. He spends most of the evening with a throw pillow shoved on his lap and he can’t stop fidgeting, can’t get comfortable, can’t seem to play the game for shit either. When he crashes for the fourth time in a row, Derek turns to him. “Are you okay? You’re not playing well and earlier-”

“I’m fine!” Stiles snaps, “Everything’s fine. Let’s just focus on the game.”

He isn’t fine. He’s broken. It’s like he’s developed some kind of Derek radar and he can’t switch it off. He keeps thinking about his abs in that tank-top and the soft smile on his face when he talks about the kids he works with. He’s fucking screwed.

Jesus. When did this happen? Why? What did he do to deserve this kind of torture?

He ends up cutting away early, makes his excuses and drives home.

-

He’s forced to admit to himself that he maybe, sorta, kinda has feelings for Derek. Not just a hate-crush, but actual legitimate feelings. And, if he’s honest with himself, they’ve been there for a while. He just never allowed himself to look at them before, or examine what they meant.

It’s complicated is all.

He’s never understood Derek, that’s the thing, not really. More than anyone Stiles has ever met Derek’s a mystery. And Stiles can’t leave a good mystery alone. So for a long time he told himself that what he felt was curiosity.

The truth is, though, there’s something between them. A chemistry that he hasn’t found with anyone else, no matter how many friends he makes or people he hooks up with at college. And maybe it scares him a little bit too. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend they don’t get on. To fall back on the dynamic they had when they first met, where all Stiles wanted was to poke and prod and provoke, so that he would always be the center of Derek’s attention. Because the other option is to admit that he cares, he really cares, and he’s not sure he’s ready for that yet, but he can’t move on either.

Maybe that’s why he’s obsessing over this stupid secret Santa thing. Because he’s confused and scared and on the cusp of something bigger than he knows how to deal with. Because he if it were Scott or Lydia or Isaac or anyone else it would be easier. He knows what those guys mean to him. He knows what he feels for them.

He has no fucking idea how to process all the things Derek makes him feel. Let alone express it in a $5 gift.

-

The eyebrow keychain and the mousemat arrive in the mail the next morning and he shoves them in the box under his bed with all the other stuff, because nothing is right, nothing is good enough.

He’s being ridiculous. It’s just another stupid, one-sided crush. He’s been through this before, he knows where it leads. He has to nip it in the bud before it can get out of hand. He should just give Derek the key chain or the mousemat and draw a line under things, then try and avoid Derek for the rest of the holidays so he doesn’t embarrass himself.

He’s basically decided that’s what he’s going to do, when Scott calls and asks him to pick Derek up from the hospital because the Camaro won’t start.

Stiles tries to back out of it, but there’s nobody else. Besides, Scott is surprisingly good at guilting people into things, and in the end, he kind of just has to do it.

And honestly? Stiles could have lived a thousand years without knowing what Derek looked like in scrubs. (Amazing, he looks amazing.)

Of course then, while Derek’s walking toward the jeep, he gets accosted by a family and stops to chat with them and smile and, oh god, bend down and hug the kid, who looks up at Derek like he hung the freaking moon.

Stiles is never going to be able to unsee this shit.

He’s never going to be able to move on to some else.

It’s a freaking disaster.

When Derek finally crosses this carpark and gets in the car, all Stiles can do is glare, because he is offended, personally offended, by what he’s just witnessed.

“Thanks, Stiles.” Derek says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I really appreciate this. I think the alternators gone. They had to tow it and-”

“It’s fine.”

“I would have walked but it’s cold.”

Stiles starts the engine, but that makes him pause. “Don’t wolves run hotter or something?”

“Well, yeah, but the hotter you are the faster you lose heat. So-”

“-the colder you feel. Shit, I hadn’t thought of it like that before.” Stiles turns the heat up and Derek puts his hands out to warm them. He does look cold now Stiles thinks about it.

And it’s been surprisingly chilly this year.

Of course that’s when Stiles’ brain decides it would be a good idea to knit Derek a scarf.

Because knitting can’t be that difficult, right? And if he really focuses, he could probably get it done in a couple of days.

He goes out the next morning, finds the softest green wool he can and a pair of knitting needles, then sits at home and finds a youtube video that will teach him to cast on.

Five hours later, he’s hot and sweaty and he has a maybe seven inches worth of scarf to show for all his effort. It’s a lot wider at one end then it is at the other, and there are definitely a few holes where he’s dropped stitches.

It won’t function as a scarf. Hell, it’ll barely function as a dust cloth.

He shoves the whole thing in the shoebox and throws himself on the bed in despair.

He doesn’t want to be overdramatic, but this entire week is a catastrophe of epic proportions.

-

Against all odds the novelty werewolf mug arrives the next day. He looks down at it, dismayed. It looks so cheap. Feels so inadequate.

He can do better.

He thinks maybe making something is the way to go though, even if he has less that twenty-four hours to do it.

After googling a lot he decides to make a Christmas tree ornament, manages to produce something that looks kinda pretty. He’s quite proud of it, it’s better than the scarf, at least it is, right up until he sits on it.

Obviously the universe is telling him to try something different, so he decides to decorate a photo-frame and place a picture of the pack in it. (He borrows a glue gun from his neighbor and ends up burning himself and gluing a page of his ethics textbook to the frame. It’s not good).

Finally on Saturday morning, with less than four hours to go until he’s supposed to give Derek a gift he decides to bake cookies. (He gets a call from Lydia half way through and they burn to a crisp.) He opens all the windows to let the room air, then scrapes them off the baking sheet and into a tupperware box to go next to all the other terrible Christmas gifts.

He carries them upstairs to his room, gathers all the gifts together and stares down at them, disgusted with himself.

He’s so frustrated, and somehow, what makes it worse, is that the pathetic collection of tacky, banal, boring gifts and regretsy style craft fails, is the result of so much effort and heartache.

He’s poured his heart and soul into this. He’s tried. He’s really tried.

And now he’s so pissed with himself.

He doesn’t want to give Derek any of this sad, terrible shit.

He wants to give him something he wants. Something that will make him smile.

That’s all.

Is that so terrible?

Is it so bad to want to be the reason Derek Hale is happy?

He stares down at it all hopelessly.

He’s not sure what makes him grab the box of gifts and the Aloe Vera plant and head out to his jeep.

He just knows he’s spent a week feeling panicky and sad and kind of desperate and he’s done all this before with Lydia in high school. He doesn’t want to go through it again.

He storms up the stairs to Derek’s apartment and knocks on the door. When Derek opens it he stomps past him and throws the box, the tupperware container with the cookies and the plant down on the table.

“Stiles?”

“Pick one.”

“What?”

“Pick one. It’s stressing me out. I can’t do this any more. Just pick one and I’ll go home and wrap it and bring it with me tonight. Or, better yet, tell me something you need and then I’ll go out and buy it for you.”

Derek stares at him.

“I’m your secret santa, jackass. So pick a gift.”

“Stiles-”

“Just- just do it, okay?” And he doesn’t like the way his voice breaks at the end, but there it is. It’s out there now. He’s exposed.

Derek watches him, expression unreadable. He sighs, walks forward to the box and bends down to take a look.

He picks up the mug first, examines it carefully. Then the key chain. Then the Zumba dvd, and Stiles thinks he hears a little huff of amusement. Derek puts that back and picks up the half knitted scarf, knitting needles still attached and looks at Stiles, one eyebrow raised in a quiet question.

“You’re the one who was all… ‘werewolves get cold,’ and shit. So I tried to knit- I can’t knit. Ignore that one.” He goes to snatch it out of Derek’s hand, but Derek’s too quick for him. He places it carefully back in the box, then picks up one of the random sci-fi books Stiles bought and thumbs through it. Puts that down, then opens the box of charred cookies and looks down at them.

“Stiles-”

“I couldn’t decide. I didn’t know what to do.” He wrings his hands, unable to meet Derek’s gaze.

“You-” Derek pauses, reaches down to pick something up, expression carefully blank. “What-”

“It’s was supposed to be a Christmas decoration.” Stiles explains. “It went wrong. Everything went wrong. Just. Look. I- I wanted to make you happy, okay? I wanted, I wanted you to open your gift and know that someone cared, that I care, but I just couldn’t- I couldn’t get it right. So pick the one you want. Or throw them all out. I don’t mind. I swear.”

Derek’s staring at him now and Stiles won’t look at him. He can’t. He can’t be here right now. “I just- I won’t be at the pack meeting tonight, okay? I’m um, I’m sorry, I’m just gonna-” he jerks his thumb toward the door and starts to back toward it.

“Stiles-”

“Don’t, okay? Just don’t.” He turns to leave.

He’s halfway to the door, already formulating the excuse he’s gonna text Scott so he doesn’t have to go to the pack meeting this evening, when Derek says it. Says, “I’m in love with you.”

And he hears the words, but his brain can’t process them. He stops dead, wheels round.

“What?”

“I’m in love with you,” Derek says again. Calm and sure. Like it’s obvious. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

“But-”

Derek takes a step towards him. “I never said anything at first, because you were too young, and then later-”

“Later?” Stiles’ heart is pounding in his chest.

Derek swallows, hard. “Later I convinced myself that you didn’t see me that way. That what I could smell on you sometimes was attraction but not- not affection. I thought that you’d only ever want something physical and that would never have been enough, for me at least, but now-” he gestures to Stiles tragic little box of gifts.

Stiles gives a strangled laugh. He can’t believe this is happening. He can’t. Derek takes a step toward him, then another, until he’s right up in Stiles space.

“I just want you to be happy,” Stiles admits softly, reaching out one shaking hand to caress Derek’s cheek. “I want to be the one to make you happy. I didn’t know that until Scott made me your Secret Santa.”

Derek smiles, eyes warm and bright. “We’ll have to get him an extra special Christmas gift. Something to say thank-you.”

“We’ll give him the dvd,” Stiles says, leaning in until he can feel Derek’s breath warm against his cheek. “He’s a sucker for a good home workout. He’ll like Zumba.”

“No,” Derek says gruffly. “All the things in that box belong to me now. If you think Scott’s getting any of them you are sorely mistaken.”

“Really?” Stiles says. “You wanna keep all of it? But-”

“Stiles, stop arguing and fucking kiss me already.”

And Stiles does.

**Author's Note:**

> So, seeing as this is, like, my third Christmas themed Sterek fic, I've decided to put them in a handy little series for your viewing pleasure.
> 
> Thanks to anyone who leaves kudos or comments. You are literally the best. 
> 
> Also, I am on [tumblr](http://yodas-yo-yo.tumblr.com/), come and say hi!


End file.
